


Operational Parameters

by esteefee, mischief5



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crack, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 02:30:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/esteefee, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mischief5/pseuds/mischief5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harold has lost control of his assets. A few ground rules need to be established.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Operational Parameters

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Operational Parameters (Chinese Translation)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1477333) by [lzqsk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lzqsk/pseuds/lzqsk)



> Many thanks to [lzqsk](http://lzqsk.livejournal.com/).
> 
> Post The Devil's Share (e3x10). However, no spoilers.
> 
> Co-betas by Mischief and Esteefee. :D

Harold stepped out of Detective Fusco's car to survey the carnage with a grimace. One of the fallen men gave a faint groan before collapsing into a puddle of blood.

"Honestly," Harold said. Fusco grunted a laugh.

"Hey, don't look at me," Shaw said. "Those two are mine." She waved over at two men still writhing on the ground and clutching their legs in agony.

Harold turned toward John. "Mr. Reese, I thought we discussed your recent propensity for excessive violence."

"Hey, these were really bad guys," Reese said earnestly, gesturing at the assorted machine guns and other weapons piled at his feet.

Root put in her two cents over his earbud. "I'm really not seeing the moral ambiguity, Harold." She seemed to be getting a vicarious thrill out of Reese's bloodthirstiness. Apparently, the Machine had extracted a personal promise from her on that front.

If only he had that sort of control over his own assets.

"You're not being helpful, Ms. Groves." Harold sighed and said to Detective Fusco, "I apologize for the mess." 

"Oh, hey—these were some pretty nasty fellas. This guy here, this is Joey Chu. Big racketeer down in Chinatown. Just because I'm not dishing it out anymore doesn't mean I don't appreciate it."

"Terrific." Harold was surrounded on all sides. "Come on," he said to Reese and Shaw. "We should leave before some actual police arrive."

"Hey!" Fusco said to their backs.

:::

Harold tried softening Shaw up with a hot pierogi and the latest issue of _Guns and Ammo._

He started by complimenting her on the strides she'd made in adjusting her own sights, as it were, and then suggested, lightly, that she might now try influencing Reese to do the same.

"It wasn't _that_ unreasonable a suggestion," he said to Bear later as he was hand-washing the pierogi stains out of his tie. "She didn't have to laugh quite so hard." Harold considered Bear for a moment. "What do you think, boy? Do you think I should start sending you out with him? Maybe you could get him to tone it down." 

Bear thumped his tail once and then grinned, his canines gleaming sharply.

Harold sighed. "Perhaps not."

:::

"They seem to be running low on ammo," Root said. 

Harold stopped and looked inside the Faraday cage. "Ms. Groves?"

"All this sound and fury, Harold. What do you think it signifies?" She smiled demurely. "I think you've lost control over your trained monkeys."

"Ammo." Harold considered the shelves of ordnance across the corridor. "Ms. Groves, turns out you've proven useful after all."

:::

"How may I help you, Detective Fusco?"

_"Yeah, I've got a report of an arms dealer been wiped out down on Canal Street. You know anything about this?"_

Harold sighed. "Please hold, Detective." He switched lines. "John, where are you right now?"

_"Oh, hello, Harold. Sam and I were just doing a little shopping. Seems like some of our ordnance went missing."_

"I see." 

_"Just disappeared out of thin air."_

"Excuse me a moment." Harold switched back over. "Detective, I'm sorry to say I believe we both know the culprits. Would you mind terribly—?"

_"I'm on it. Tell the Wonder Twins they owe me. Again."_

:::

"Mr. Reese, it's quite possible he doesn't actually know the location of our number," Harold said hastily into the speakerphone. Was that the sound of a saw blade?

 _"Really? Because I'm not so sure,"_ Reese replied. There was a louder whine, and then a screech. 

_"Oh my god, no, no, please! Okay, okay!"_

_"See?"_

"Mr. Reese!" Harold looked helplessly over at Shaw, who just shrugged and turned the pages of her magazine. No help there.

 _"She's in the basement of the pizza place on 57th and Lex,"_ Reese said shortly, sounding breathless and a little gleeful.

"And Mr. Stone?" 

_"He fainted."_

"His condition, I mean."

_"Oh, he'll live."_

Shaw snorted.

_"I'm going to go retrieve Ms. Calabrese. Send Fusco to the location."_

"Yes. All right." Harold did as Reese requested and then turned to Shaw. "This is getting ridiculous."

She dropped her magazine (today it was _Shooting Times_ , he noted) and rolled her eyes. "Look, you want to get him to ease up, you gotta distract him. Boy's all about the focus."

"Distract him. Hmmm. But with what? Is the question."

"I don't know. Do I know?" She gave him an evil grin. "Why don't you try getting him laid?"

"Ms. Shaw!" Harold felt himself blush.

"Look, I know guys. That always works."

She went back to her magazine.

Harold stared at the phone for a long time.

:::

"So what's this?" Reese said, looking around at the lit candles, the dinner for two, and the bottle of wine. "A one-man intervention? Or a date? Because I was kind of expecting the first one."

Harold cleared his throat. _Both,_ he carefully did not say. "Let's just start with dinner, shall we?"

"Hmm. All right." 

The food was excellent, of course. Harold made sure to top Reese's glass at every opportunity. 

A smile teased the corners of Reese's mouth, and he said, "Are you trying to get me drunk, Harold?"

"Not as such, no."

The smile grew broader. "I see. So this is a date." Reese's eyes focused on him keenly. "Good."

Well, that was unexpected but would make things easier. Harold categorically denied that it also was making things tighter in his pants.

"Then you won't mind if I suggest we take this to the couch?"

"Why not the bed?" Reese said and stood, somewhat less gracefully than usual. He lay down on the bed and ran his hand down the front of his shirt to palm the crotch of his pants.

Harold sat speechless for a moment before rising himself and joining him. "I should warn you," he said, a little appalled at the breathless quality to his voice, "that this is also an intervention of sorts."

"I kind of figured." Reese reached up and drew him down. "Name your terms."

"Kneecaps, and, oh—!" Well, that was hardly sporting, touching him there when Harold wasn't prepared. Harold retaliated by undoing Reese's trousers and putting his mouth on him.

Substantially later, when John had demonstrated his hands were adept at more than firearms and his eyes had lost that focused, hard-edged quality and were quite dazed with repletion, John said roughly, "You said about terms?" 

Harold coughed. "Yes, I didn't get a chance to finish."

Reese laughed and cradled Harold's damp, spent cock with his left hand, holding it so terribly gently that Harold sighed. 

"That wasn't what I meant and you know it," Harold said. "You will aim first for the knees, and use lethal force only when necessary," he said sternly.

"And in return?" John's hand drifted south, touching Harold intimately.

Harold closed his eyes and nodded. "Oh, yes."

"Good." John sounded smug.

"Oh, and one more thing." Harold touched his kiss-roughened lips. "You really do have to start shaving again." 

"Deal."

 

_End._


End file.
